


grooves otherwise unseen

by extasiswings



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Buck PoV, Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, ace eddie, intimacy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25295689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: The thing is…Buck knows people have always wanted him.  When he was a dumbass trimmed down college kid with vanity muscles and a reputation for eating out like a champion.  When he was in the academy.  And definitely now.  He can walk into a room of single people and pick someone up in ten minutes—not that he would anymore, not that he wants to, but…people want him.  Or at least, they want to sleep with him.He’s old enough now to know that those two things aren’t equivalent.  Which, maybe, really should mean he should love this.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 341





	grooves otherwise unseen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elisela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/gifts).



> Blame elisela.

The problem isn’t that Eddie’s ace. 

The problem—well, there isn’t a problem, really—or, at least, there shouldn’t be. 

There isn’t. 

Buck looks over at his boyfriend. Eddie’s watching the screen, his arm stretched out across the back of the couch. His fingers have been ghosting absently over the back of Buck’s neck for the better part of an hour, distracting, maddening—from anyone else, Buck would say it was deliberate, a come on, a tease. But it’s not. He knows it’s not. 

He also knows that if he pointed out the fact that he feels too warm and electric, his skin buzzing, focus narrowing to that point of contact, knows if he reached across and slid his hand over Eddie’s thigh or climbed into his lap and breathed _I want_ against his lips, Eddie would indulge him. But that’s—that’s really not the point either. 

The point is—

The point is…

The point is that Buck doesn’t want to be _indulged_. He wants to be _wanted_. 

And Eddie doesn’t. Want him. At least, not the same way Buck wants him. 

So. No.

The problem isn’t that Eddie’s ace.

The problem is that sometimes, Buck wishes that he wasn’t. And he feels like one hell of an asshole for it.

* * *

The thing is…Buck knows people have always wanted him. When he was a dumbass trimmed down college kid with vanity muscles and a reputation for eating out like a champion. When he was in the academy. And definitely now. He can walk into a room of single people and pick someone up in ten minutes—not that he would anymore, not that he wants to, but…people want him. Or at least, they want to sleep with him. 

He’s old enough now to know that those two things aren’t equivalent. That sex isn’t everything. He spent years of his life having sex, _using_ sex, trying to fill a void, when what he really wanted was the emotional connection and someone to be with. Someone who would stay.

And people always used to say that, too, when talking about their perfect relationships and casually pitying—or just judging—him as the guy who wouldn’t stop sleeping around. That sex isn’t everything. Or, more to the point, that it’s so much better when it _means something_ , when you’re with someone you _care about_ instead of random strangers from Tinder. 

But it’s a little ironic—funny isn’t the right word, because it isn’t funny—but sex was always still part of those conversations. And honestly…those people were right. Because he fell in love with Abby and sex became something else. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t leave him feeling hollow or used or anything else, it was just…good. It was good. And after that, he really didn’t want to go back to the mess he was before.

So. He knows they aren’t the same things. People wanting him and people wanting to sleep with him. Which, maybe, really should mean he should love this.

Eddie doesn’t want to have sex with him. Or, well, no—it’s more accurate to say Eddie is indifferent about it? Neutral. Eddie just wants to be around him, to be close to him, to be with him. Eddie just wants him.

Except that somewhere along the line, Buck feels like everything in his head must have gotten twisted up. Because it’s what he wanted! He _wanted_ a real relationship, he _wanted_ someone to see him as more than what his body could do for them, he _wanted_ this. 

But Eddie doesn’t want to have sex with him. And that feels wrong, makes his insides twist up in knots, makes his breath come too fast sometimes because—because—

Buck doesn’t really know why. But it doesn’t feel good. And he doesn’t know what to do about it.

* * *

They have a fight.

A bad fight.

Buck feels a little bit like he’s trapped in a nightmare where he’s out of his body watching himself stand idly in the path of an oncoming train, but he can’t stop it, can’t make himself move, only in this case it’s that he can’t stop _himself_ , can’t stop talking until words trip off his tongue that he can’t take back and Eddie—

It’s ironic. Because people assume that Eddie’s the one of the two of them more likely to get mad, get loud, get in someone’s face. But that’s not Eddie. Most of the time, Eddie’s the opposite, shuttering, freezing—

Buck watches in slow motion as the verbal hit lands. As Eddie’s jaw tightens, as his shoulders go rigid, as his arms cross over his chest. Closing off.

“This isn’t productive,” Eddie says, and his voice is pure frost. “Let me know when you want to have a real conversation and then we can talk. Until then, I’m—” 

He grabs his keys and shoves them in his pocket. “I’ll be at Hen’s.” 

Buck feels like the floor is falling out from under him, wants to bite his tongue until it bleeds or just grab Eddie’s arm and take it all back. Because as much as he hates the whisper in his head telling him that he’s not wanted, the thought of actually being alone—the thought of being the cause of it, that he’s fucked up the best thing in his life—terrifies him far more.

“Eddie—” 

Eddie stops by the door. Buck can’t hear the sigh, but it’s visible in the way Eddie’s shoulders slump. He looks back.

“I’m not—look, I love you. But I don’t like you very much right now. So I’m taking some space because that’s what I need in order to think about the last half hour. Can you give me that?”

Buck swallows hard. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Buck goes to Maddie’s. She takes one look at him and bypasses wine completely, going for the liquor cabinet instead. It takes an hour or so, but finally everything comes spilling out of him like a tidal wave, as he stares at a single spot on the floor with his head in his hands until he runs out of words.

Maddie is quiet. She pours herself a drink. Her first even as Buck’s lost track of his own number. 

And then, she walks over to the couch and sits down next to him, her arm pressing tight against his from how close she is. She sighs.

“So…Eddie loves you. You love him. The two of you practically live together, you’re raising his son together, you’ve been together officially for months and that’s on top of all the time the two of you were basically already dating before that—and you’re having a crisis because you’re not having sex?”

“We _are_ having sex,” Buck says. “We have a lot of sex—I just—”

_It doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel right._

“—I don’t feel like he really wants me.”

“He loves you. He _tells you_ that he loves you.”

“I know.”

Maddie presses her lips together for a long moment.

“You realize you sound insane, don’t you? As in, are you actually hearing the things coming out of your mouth?”

Buck blows out a breath of frustration and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m not—it’s just—”

He trails off and gestures unintelligibly. 

“Buck…I’m going to say something, and I need you to hear it because I think it’s going to save you some time and maybe even heartbreak,” Maddie says quietly. “This isn’t. About. You. You’re making it about you, and I know that you know you do that sometimes. But it’s really not.”

“I’m—” Oh, fuck. Which…had been kind of the point of the fight, really. He just hadn’t wanted to look too closely at it. 

Buck swears and knocks back the rest of his glass.

“Why does it matter so much?” She asks. “Genuinely curious—do you even know? Have you really thought about it?”

The things he’s told himself as justifications a million times are on the tip of his tongue, but he weighs them, realizes how wildly surface-level and unreasonable they are, and for once swallows them instead. And he thinks. Delves deep into the dark places where he doesn’t like to go and thinks. 

The answer is uncomfortable. Messy. The thought of saying it out loud makes him want to run a million miles in the other direction.

But.

“Will you take me to Hen’s?” He asks. Maddie hums and kisses the side of his head.

“No,” she replies. “Because you’re drunk as shit and need to sleep it off first. But you can do that in the guest room and then drive yourself wherever you need to go later.”

“Yeah…yeah that’s…probably better.”

“Trust me. It’s better.”

* * *

“I’m ready,” Buck says the next morning, heart in his throat as he stands in the doorway of Eddie’s—well, theirs, really—bedroom. “To talk about it.”

Eddie looks at him for a long moment and nods once. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Buck takes a step forward, even as he’s unsure if he should. His hands twist together, fingers lacing and unlacing, his whole body a mess of nervous energy. “I’m—there’s really nothing else to say, just—I’m sorry. For the things I said, the way I felt—” 

He trails off, but Eddie doesn’t jump in, seeming to understand there’s more. Eddie’s good at that. The understanding. 

“I’m good at sex,” Buck blurts out finally, and Eddie huffs a faint laugh despite himself.

“Yeah. I know.”

“No, I—” Buck runs his hands through his hair, bites his cheek. He looks up to the ceiling so that he doesn’t have to look at Eddie while he cuts himself open. “—I’m good at sex. Everything else—I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, like I’m a mess, like I’m seconds away from fucking up at all times, but I am _good_ at sex. And so I think maybe—maybe I’ve been so turned around because—because with everyone else I could just be good in bed and I always felt like that made up? For—for the rest of me. And I guess with you it feels like I’ve lost that…security blanket, and all that’s left is everything else, and for the life of me I don’t understand why you would—why you would want that.”

His eyes burn. He feels hollowed out and raw, exposed like a nerve, and he really doesn’t want to look at his boyfriend. 

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice is soft, his hand is warm when it wraps around the back of his neck. Buck exhales shakily as Eddie presses their foreheads together. 

“I’m not going to say it’s fine, because it wasn’t,” he continues. “But. I forgive you. And we’re going to keep talking about this, okay? Because…all those parts of yourself that you think are going to make people run the other direction—I’ve got parts like that too. And you’ve stuck around. So—we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”


End file.
